


why does the sun rise in the morning? why do magnets stick together? because everybody says so. everybody.

by goodbyechunkylemonmilk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, Reality TV, Rule 63, Temporarily Unrequited Love, The Bachelor AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 11:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11873316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbyechunkylemonmilk/pseuds/goodbyechunkylemonmilk
Summary: [This is intended to be a repository for Marauders fics I'm never going to finish. If/when I add more, I'll add additional summaries and word counts in the opening notes.]James works because it makes her feel productive, because it gives her something to lord over Sirius as if she isn’t just as rich and spoiled, as if she doesn’t cave every month and hire a maid to clean her apartment from top to bottom. She likes the illusion of responsibility, likes coming to Sirius’ apartment and mothering her, clucking over the dishes in the sink and the refrigerator full of beer. It’s one of her more annoying qualities, second only to her relentless cheerfulness.





	why does the sun rise in the morning? why do magnets stick together? because everybody says so. everybody.

**Author's Note:**

> So obviously this has only been edited for basic readability and not style or anything! :) And you can DEFINITELY tell I write in non-linear chunks.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Holly** : Why is it such a certainty that we are supposed to be together?  
>  **Michael** : Why does the sun rise in the morning? Why do magnets stick together? Because everybody says so. Everybody.
> 
> - _The Office_

James works because it makes her feel productive, because it gives her something to lord over Sirius as if she isn’t just as rich and spoiled, as if she doesn’t cave every month and hire a maid to clean her apartment from top to bottom. She likes the illusion of responsibility, likes coming to Sirius’ apartment and mothering her, clucking over the dishes in the sink and the refrigerator full of beer. It’s one of her more annoying qualities, second only to her relentless cheerfulness.

Sirius doesn’t date. James thinks it’s because she’s broken, because her childhood left her cold and fragile and terrified of opening up to other people. All of those things are true, but they aren’t _why_ , simply a neat explanation that doesn’t require either of them to look any deeper. She tried doing things the way James does, the messy entanglement, the heart-thumping rush of vulnerability. She doesn’t often feel cruel, considers guilt to be an indulgence for people who don’t have anything real to be miserable about, but she knows heartbreak with an intimacy and depth she wouldn’t have imagined herself to be capable of, and it isn’t so much better to inflict than it is to experience. She’d thought she was doing a good job, playacting as someone who wasn’t pathetically far-gone for a lost cause, and sometimes she even got in so deep that she fooled herself. She still doesn’t know what gave her away, whether it was the look in her eyes or the sound of James’ name in her mouth or even something stupid, like canceling plans one too many times, but it ended in tears all the same.

It’s far from the worst thing she’s ever done, but it’s easy enough to avoid, to stop fighting that ever-present air of emotional unavailability. She can keep things light, surface-level, and if she ever misses that feeling of actually mattering to someone, well. She’s pinning a lot of her hopes on the elusive spectre of maturity, of growing up and moving on.

Twenty-five is very late to be nursing a middle school crush on a self-described straight girl. But straight girls, actual ones, don’t get handsy with other girls as soon as they’ve had the sip of beer that will allow them to justify it in the morning, and they don’t build up to and then back down from “big confessions” on eight separate occasions, and if their best friends get drunk at junior prom (where they are both conspicuously dateless) and say _I love you_ with a bit too much fervor, they don’t make out in the bathroom until someone comes looking and only say the next day that it was a mistake.

In middle school, James and Linden Evans had an academic rivalry spiced up by genuine dislike on his side and a wide-eyed infatuation on James’, which turned in high school into a relationship notable for being even more insufferable than the average adolescent romance. It got serious just in time for Evans’ parents to move him to another country—Sirius has resolutely refused to learn which, a remarkable feat considering how many times she’s been subjected to lectures about its history, language, and immigration policies. Almost right after, as if the universe had it out for her, James’ parents got sick, her mother and then her father, and died, so that she had just barely finished crying that nothing could possibly hurt this bad when she discovered that yes, something absolutely could.

James’ parents were kinder to Sirius than any adult had ever been, and she sobbed for days when they died, for them and for James and for herself, for the loss of the closest thing to a family she’d ever known. When she came out the other side, blinking and blind in the light, she considered with a guilty anticipation that James might finally allow herself to admit to what they both knew. But James became, in fact, more loyal to the idea of her parents, determined to live up to their half-articulated, half-imagined goals for her.

James keeps track of all of their old classmates on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and LinkedIn, and updates Sirius regularly, no matter how many times she protests that she doesn’t care. So she’s aware immediately of Linden Evans’ appearance on the most recent season of The Bachelorette, and subjected to weekly watching sessions that invariably end with James drunk and crying over the pain of missed opportunities. Finally, blessedly, Linden is sent home, but only after Sirius has spent what feels like a full decade watching and rewatching and analyzing every second of footage that so much as features his arm in the background.  

It’s hard to compete with a fantasy, someone who effectively blinked out of existence practically a decade ago and has thus taken on mythical proportions. It certainly doesn’t hurt that Linden is a man, someone James’ parents would have been happy to see her with. They had been liberal, in the earnest but slightly aimless way of the New England WASP, but James was horrified by the prospect of slipping even one rung in their estimation. Sirius has been grateful for very little about her childhood, but it seems something of a blessing to have left the fear of disappointing her parents behind as surely as she left the house itself. She never wanted them to love her, or if she did, the desire is buried under the sediment of years of resentment, and so she never would have thought to worry that they might somehow love her _less_.

Evans became, then, The One Who Got Away, or the one who proved that James could make herself fit into society, or the one who represented her life back when she had a family.

 

 

If it were up to Sirius, her experience with makeup would be limited to, maybe, a tinted chapstick and a swipe from the tube of mascara she’s had since her adolescent shoplifting phase. But every so often, James gets frantic before a big date and wants help, and she isn’t stupid enough to deny herself the opportunity for that coveted closeness just because she can’t be bothered to learn how to do a proper smoky eye.

James didn’t properly discover makeup until halfway through college, a few months after she finally conceded that basketball shorts and Adidas slides weren’t getting her many dates. Five years of practice and the preceding nine years of friendship somehow haven’t inured Sirius to the slight intoxication of leaning into James’ personal space. She’s already dug out her makeup bag, actually a plastic bag from the last time James bought her groceries, concerned that she might be the first person in the 21st century to get scurvy. She uses an elbow to make room on the table, watching with some irritation as a takeout container tips onto its side, spreading lo mein across the floor. She drops a paper towel over the mess to keep James from whining about it. “So what is this for?” she asks once she’s gotten James situated in one of the two mismatched chairs in the entirety of her apartment. “Got a big date?”

“No.” It isn’t easy to avoid eye contact at such close range, but James gamely attempts it, pupils trained on the ceiling. “Well, maybe. Eventually. You know how Linden Evans was on this past season of the Bachelorette?”

Sirius snorts. “ _Was_ he? I hadn’t heard. I certainly wasn’t trapped watching it every week until he finally got eliminated, and then I _definitely_ didn’t have to watch the last few episodes and listen to you complain about how ridiculous it was that any woman could be stupid enough to reject him.”

James continues to look somewhere above Sirius’ head, her fists clenching against the fabric of her work slacks. “Don’t be a dick, or I’ll leave.”

“And do your own makeup? Remember the last time you tried that? You looked like a clown.” A terrible thought occurs to her, and she struggles to breathe, let alone speak, past the nausea cresting in her gut. “You didn’t get in contact with him, did you? You’re not like, reconnecting?”

“Not exactly.” James usually speaks very quickly in a nigh-incomprehensible patter, communicating less through actual words than fluctuations in tone and facial expression, but now she slows, as if she already regrets what she’s about to say. “They announced today that he’s going to be the next Bachelor. So I thought— Well, I thought you could help me prep for my audition video.”

“Are you _kidding_?” Sirius takes a step back, wincing as her heel lands squarely in soy-sauce-soaked noodles. “Have you ever considered having a little dignity?”

“Says the woman who just stepped in week-old Chinese food.” James rolls her eyes. “Look, you know that I’ve always regretted that nothing happened between me and Linden, and maybe it’s stupid, but if I have another shot, I have to take it. I need this, and as my best friend, you need to support me.”

Sirius groans theatrically, though she can already feel herself wilting under the weight of James’ earnest gaze. “Fine,” she says finally, ripping the bag open with such force that it splits all the way down. “Now did you want me to do something with your hair? Because that might be a little above my pay grade.”

James touches her messy fringe self-consciously. “Is there something wrong with my hair?”

“No, everyone wants to date a mop soaked in shoe polish. It’s totally erotic.” James flinches, and Sirius immediately feels guilty. It’s one of their patterns: Sirius lashes out, James is hurt, Sirius throws out a half-hearted apology because anything else would leave her too vulnerable, and James bounces back like only someone who’s had an easy life can. They go through it at least once a week, and the fact that James is still here, sitting in her apartment and putting nothing less than unadulterated faith in her blows her mind.

“So much for not being a dick, huh?”

“Whatever, be glad I’m helping you with this at all.” She reaches for a brush, tries to remember if it’s ever been cleaned, and quickly loses interest. “Now shut up and close your eyes; you know the drill.”

She does her best without quite understanding why; James certainly wouldn’t notice if her makeup was just the slightest bit off. But she’s never been able to help herself, never been able to say no to James. She isn’t the nicest person around, probably doesn’t deserve the loyalty James shows her, but she can at least prove herself in this arena.

Sirius leaves her hair pulled back for as long as she can get away with, flirting constantly with the risk of it all matting into one big lump. But she spends an hour coaxing James’ unruly hair into an intricate updo she half recalls from an ad for bridalwear, and then goes over and vetoes her entire script and all but one of the outfits she’s brought with her. It’s counterproductive, but she can’t see any reason to break from a practically lifelong tradition of helping James at her own expense.

It goes without saying, then, that she’s going to apply as well. It’s just that she’s wasted so much time nursing this stupid little crush and stoking the memory of a few stolen kisses. She thought she’d have more time, considering that every relationship James has ever had has ended in hysterics within two months She’s always figured James would get over the fear of disappointing her dead parents and admit to the tension that’s existed between them since long before they tried kissing, “just to see.” But now maybe she’s waited too long; if she ever had a shot, maybe she’s missed it.

 

 

She gets the call first, which is a possibility she hadn’t properly considered. If she refuses, her spot could go to James, but if she doesn’t, she’ll be stuck on some reality show pretending to be attracted to her second least favorite person from high school, and James will never forgive her for stealing the opportunity.

She calls Regulus, and even though she reacted the same way, it’s a bit frustrating to not get past, “So I applied to be on the Bachelor,” before she’s practically deafened by the sound of Regulus’ cackling, staticky in her ear. “No, shut up, shut _up_. I applied because James did, and if she gets on then I’ve got to go as well, and keep her from marrying Linden fucking Evans.”

“Okay.” Regulus sighs. “God, you’re an idiot. You could just tell her, you know, instead of embarrassing our entire family on national television.”

“Anything that embarrasses _them_ is a net good, first of all. And I tried that, in high school, remember?”

“That’s a really generous interpretation of making big needy cow eyes at her all the time, finally getting up the guts to ask her to prom, and then absolutely _choking_ at the last minute and adding ‘as friends,’ which practically went without saying.”

“Okay,” Sirius cuts in, loud enough to drown Regulus out.  “We don’t need to go over that.”

“I guess you _did_ get drunk off vodka you snuck in and start crying in the photo booth. At some point in here, maybe you found the time to have a mature, adult conversation about your _enduring love_?”

“Have you ever dated _anyone_ , Reg? Or are you still waiting for Mom to die before you can live your life?” Regulus is silent for a long time, the pause so weighted that Sirius feels a sudden, desperate need to lighten the mood. “I mean, I guess I don’t exactly have the right to insult someone for waiting too long, right?” She forces a laugh, and after a moment, Regulus does too.

“This isn’t a good idea, Sirius.”

 

James shows up at her door with a bottle of wine and two glasses, smiling so wide that it hurts to look at her. “Guess what?” She doesn’t wait for Sirius to say anything, bursts out before she’s even set foot inside, “I got on!  They called me while I was at work and I had to leave early, my concentration was so shot. Oh my _God_!”

“Congratulations,” Sirius says, trying to ignore the dull pounding of her heart.

“You could sound a little happier, you know. This is big.” James pushes past her and starts rummaging through the drawers in her kitchenette. After a quick look through Sirius’ drawers, she pulls out a dull paring knife and tries prying out the cork. “I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring a corkscrew. What was I thinking?”

“No idea. If you drink something that’s got a cork, it’s barely even proper alcoholism.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about yourself that way. It isn’t funny.”

“It isn’t meant to be. Give me that.” She snaps the fingers of her outstretched hand until James hands her the wine and the knife, then pops the cork out in one fluid movement. “See how easy that was?”

Sirius waits until James has gotten embarrassingly drunk off half a bottle to say, staring down at her hands, “I applied too. And I got on. So I guess we’ll be roommates again.”

James blinks at her, the slow, wide-eyed concentration of someone well past tipsy. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought it seemed fun, the way you were going on about it. So I applied. And I guess they liked me, or whatever.” She shrugs, embarrassed to meet James’ eyes.

“But don’t you… I mean, aren’t you… I thought you only dated women?” James makes the face she always makes when this comes up, the unconscious grimace, and Sirius knows she ought to be used to it by now, but somehow it still makes her heart sink.

The champagne, combined with the two beers she had before James showed up and the shot of Fireball she had after, is making her stupid, so she breaks an almost decade-long habit of silence and snaps, “You don’t have to say it that way, like it’s weird or something.”

“I didn’t say it any way!” James forces her face into a neutral expression. “I just—I mean, unless you’ve been hiding these men from me.”

“I’m open-minded, let’s say.” It’s a fair question, and an accurate enough suspicion: Sirius has never believed in Identity with a capital I, but she knows it will take whatever acting chops she has to convince anyone she’s attracted to Linden Evans. She’s never liking lying to James though, not when it isn’t important. Still, she has a decent bit of practice pretending to be something approaching normal. “I thought it would be fun.” She tries on a chipper voice that sounds strikingly insincere. “Anyway, it’s done. No arguments.”

James lists over, slowly, and lands with her head in Sirius’ lap. “You know I’m not homophobic, right? Like, you must know that. I love you.” She blinks up at Sirius slowly, and the sudden rush of tenderness is almost painful. “No matter what.”

“Yeah,” she says, grateful that James is too drunk for things as complicated as tone and nuance. “Yeah, I know that.”

James falls asleep like that, sprawled across Sirius’ lap, which leaves her trapped with her bottle of emergency whiskey just out of reach. She doesn’t have the heart, though, to push James away, and ultimately she falls asleep there, head hanging over the back of the couch.

When she wakes up, her apartment smells like cinnamon and vanilla, which has never happened before. James is posted by the stove, the small counter overflowing with mixing bowls, spices, and dairy products she’s almost entirely sure she didn’t own before today. “Good morning!” James chirps, although when Sirius checks, it’s almost an hour past noon. “I noticed your bread was about to go stale, so I made french toast!”

Sirius cracks her neck and groans when the ache doesn’t go away. “I had bread?”

“Apparently!” James flips a slice with a bit too much vigor, and on its descent, it lands on the burner and gives off an ominous hiss. “You need to eat better, Sirius. We’re not kids anymore, and this shit’s going to catch up with you.”

Sirius massages her temples, digging in to the tender skin. It takes a couple minutes for her to will herself to her feet, but finally she levers herself upright and crosses the room to grab two slices. Holding them in one hand, she uses her teeth to open the freshly-purchased bottle of maple syrup she has in the other. “Thanks,” she says through a full mouth. It isn’t particularly good, burnt on the outside and raw and eggy on the inside, but she hasn’t eaten anything homecooked since the last time a visit from James coincided with her seeming so pathetic that she absolutely had to be fed.

 “Anytime. God, I feel _really_ good. How are you?” James gestures with the spatula, splattering batter on Sirius’ cheek. “Shit, sorry! I’m just excited. Are you?”

“Sure.”

James scratches at one of several burn marks on the pan. “You’ll have to help me get ready. New clothes, makeup, etcetera. They don’t provide stylists, and I have no idea how to look as put-together as you.” Sirius looks down at the stretched-out sweats she’s been wearing for the last three days, paired with leggings she found rolled into a ball under her bed. She marvels at the discrepancy between her true self and the version James must see, even if she concedes that “put-together” rather transparently means “pretty.” It’s stupid to feel flattered, considering that pretty isn’t exactly a novel compliment for her, but it means more coming from James, even indirectly.

 

They go to Sephora for makeovers, and James announces, much louder than Sirius is comfortable with, that they’re going to be contestants on the Bachelor, which gets them swarmed by makeup artists. She explains over the chatter of advice that they need whole new looks, ones that can be replicated without too much practice.

James’ makeover takes twice as long as Sirius’ does, and her artist makes a host of comments of varying degrees of insensitivity about James’ nose being too long, her eyes being too close together, and her lips being too thin. They leave weighed down with products Sirius doesn’t understand, even after the prolonged sales pitch. She only bought every third product they recommended, in an ill-thought-out power play that has left her with an incoherent mess. James  accepted everything they put in front of her, and she sits at a table at the food court with the products spread out.

She opens a blush, a bronzer, and foundation before finding a product with a mirror, then stares at herself for a long moment, stretching the skin of her cheek. “That was kind of brutal.”

“That was kind of fucking _bullshit_ , and you shouldn’t listen to any of it. You look fine.”

“’Fine’ isn’t good enough. I’m about to be competing with dozens of other women for the love of my life.” Sirius’ heart sinks. “I want to look good. This is really important.”

“He’d be stupid not to pick you,” Sirius says, throaty, and then has no idea where to look.

James brightens, so happy she hurts to look at. “That’s really sweet, Sirius. Thank you!”

She clears her throat. “You’d better hope Evans agrees, because I’ll be the one doing your makeup, and I wasn’t following a single fucking part of that demonstration.”

James laughs. “Yeah, me neither. Anything past lip gloss is outside my wheelhouse.”

Sirius runs a finger through the condensation on her frappucino (ordered by James with no input from her).

“I don’t know what I’ll do for makeup after you leave.”

“Why are you assuming I’ll go first?” There’s a stupid little part of her that feels hurt, as if it’s a damning indictment of her potential as a romantic partner rather than a realistic assessment of her ability to convincingly charm someone she never much liked. “I could go the distance if I wanted to.” James snorts into her depressing kale smoothie. “I _could_.”

“I know you could. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I just don’t think you actually want to.”

 

 

Sirius spends more time planning James’ introduction than she does her own. She says, feeling a bit petty, a bit resentful, that it’s because she’s pretty enough not to need a gimmick, and James flinches, just like she’s meant to.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this if you aren’t going to take it seriously,” James says, her head buried in her closet. Sirius perches on her bed, feet resting on a pile of rejected clothes. They’ve been at it for hours, and all James has actually put in her suitcase is a sports bra and a pair of bootcut jeans that Sirius is planning to take out as soon as James takes a bathroom break. She very badly wants a drink, or a cigarette, or both.

“Who says I’m not taking it seriously?”

“Like, your words and mannerisms?” James holds up a black dress with fringe in one hand, and a blouse and pencil skirt in the other.

“Just because I don’t think I live in a fucking fairytale, doesn’t mean I don’t care. And those are both ugly. You might as well just wear a beaded trash bag.”

James squints at both outfits, and then at Sirius. “I mean, you _are_ my competition; maybe I shouldn’t be taking your advice.”

“Do you actually think I would sabotage you?” she asks. There isn’t a chance that she won’t sound wounded, so she goes in the other direction, plays it up, exaggerates the pronouns and widens her eyes.

James smiles. “I guess not. But you could try being less of a bitch about it, you know.”

“And _you_ could try owning something that hits above the knee. It’s reality TV, James. If you show up dressed like a nun, you’re going home the first night. It wouldn’t kill you to show a little skin.”

“Do you ever get tired of being so cynical? This isn’t about sex. It’s about finding love.” James’ voice goes soft and dreamy; Sirius realizes with a lurch that she actually means it.

“Right. Well, you enjoy your idealism, and I’ll enjoy actually sticking around for more than one night.”

James turns red and splotchy. “Linden didn’t even _like_ you, and you hated him. I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“People can change, James.”

“But you certainly haven’t. You have an ulterior motive, I just haven’t figured out what it is. Are you messing with me or something?”

“Honestly? And don’t fucking spill this in a talking head or tell your _boyfriend_ but it’s really just for the hell of it. You were talking about it, and I figured, hey, I’ve never been on TV before, and a house full of bored beautiful women sounds like the dream, right?”

“And that’s really it? You have no interest in Linden at all?”

“Naw. And that’s good for you, right? Less competition? Besides, I always thought I’d make a good reality TV villain.”

 

 

Sirius plies James with drinks on the flight, half because she’s jittery to the point of disruption, and half because she wants to drink herself without having James stare at her in stony Puritan disapproval. James leans over the armrest between them and rests her head on Sirius’ shoulder, just short of nuzzling. Sirius holds herself very still, terrified of giving something away. “I don’t think I’ve slept in a week, I’ve been that nervous.” She clutches Sirius’ arm. “I can’t believe I’m going to see him again, I really can’t. There’s this little part of me that always thought—I just felt like we had something, and even if it doesn’t work out, I’m just grateful to have had the chance, you know? And I’m glad you’ll be there with me.”

 

When she gets out of the limo, she tries to summon up an expression that doesn’t demonstrate how miserable she is about being here, and finally lands on what she hopes is a sultry sort of smirk. Linden’s face falls when he sees her, which is more vindicating than it ought to be.

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Wherever James goes, there you are, just a couple feet behind.” He doesn’t seem even a bit excited to see her, which answers the question of why he’s on reality TV instead of an actually decent show.

“I’m supposed to make some joke with my name, like ‘I’m Sirius-ly glad to see you’ or ‘once you go Black, you don’t go back,’ but—” She rolls her eyes and hopes the camera angle can’t catch how contemptuous it actually is. Linden doesn’t laugh with her. “That’s not really my style so can I just say—I’m pleased to have another chance to get to know you.”

“Right.” They hug before she heads for the entrance, and she turns back in time to see him wiping his hands on his suit pants as if she’s left some kind of residue.

She picked out the dress James is wearing, and leafed through a decade’s worth of Vogues to find the perfect updo and practiced the makeup until James had a rash and she had a mild case of tendonitis. There’s no reason for the way her heart races when she spots James heading for her once she gets inside, but they have professional stylists for the first night, and she can see now how inadequate her efforts actually are. They picked a dress that looked like the one James wore to their senior prom, intentionally a bit dated with an oddly shiny sash around the waist and puffy tulle sleeves. It shouldn’t look nearly as good as it does, but it’s been neatly-tailored to fit her snugly and hits much higher up than anything her parents would have let her get away with wearing in high school.

“Well?” James asks, drawing it out as she drags Sirius over to sit on a couch between a woman dressed as a raisin and one with her stilts splayed out across a coffee table. “How did it go?”

“I know you’re only asking so you can tell me about yours, so let’s just skip ahead, all right?”

“All right.” James beams at her. “I could see when he recognized me, which was amazing because I’d been worried he’d have forgotten about me, but he looked _really_ happy. God, Sirius, I’ve been terrified that this was a mistake but when he looked at me, I felt so _sure_. This is where I’m meant to be.”

Sirius winces, suddenly unsure that she’s doing the right thing. She doesn’t like to think of herself as selfish, though she undoubtedly is. James is the only person who can bring out the stupidly nurturing side of her, the only person for whom she would consider not looking out for her own best interests. She wants James to be happy more than she wants to be happy herself, not only because happiness is, for her, a goal that seems largely out of reach.

“I hope it works out,” she says, surprised by how much she means it.

“That means a lot to me, Sirius, especially because this show is something of a zero-sum game. You know that I want you to be happy too, right? And I would give up anything for that.” James squeezes her hand. “And I’m glad you’re here. Even if only one of us can actually win, I’m always grateful to have you around.”

“He recognized me immediately. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I guess it’s flattering, but I think I look way better than I did back then, so maybe that’s bad?” James smooth her hands against her sides. “Do I look all right?”

“You look beautiful,” Sirius says before she can think about it, and it comes out heart-wrenchingly earnest. I mean.” She takes a gulp of her drink and chokes on it. “You’ll be fine. It’s going to be fine. I’m going to mingle.” She walks away before James can point out that she has never willingly ‘mingled,’ even once in her life.

Linden’s stuck outside meeting women for another hour, and if Sirius didn’t totally detest him, she’d feel bad. It must be agonizing, fielding awkward attempts to be memorable.

She catches a couple women eying her in a way that seems to be something more than the competitive evaluation coming from the others, and makes a note of them. James makes a beeline for Linden the second he walks in, leaving the other women grumbling.

They’re off together half the night; by the time they come back, three women have vomited, eight more are plotting to murder James, and Sirius has gotten her hand practically all the way up Marlene McKinnon’s skirt.

 

 

Ludo Bagman announces, with his signature overexuberance, that Linden is ready to award the first impression rose. Sirius has hated him practically since they met, certainly since James first smiled at him, but she has to concede that he doesn’t seem like the kind of stuck-up, self-absorbed asshole she assumed would headline a reality show, which is infuriating. He actually seems a little nervous, and it’s making her hate him even more. She doesn’t feel quite so much like the protagonist if he’s just an ordinary guy looking for love.

“This rose is for someone who, if I’m being honest, didn’t actually make a good first impression, but whom I was really grateful to have gotten a second chance with.” The pause is much longer than feels natural, and James is practically bouncing up and down on her toes, though it can only be one of the two of them, and since it seems hopelessly sincere, it truly can only be her. “James,” he says finally, “will you accept this rose?”

James bounds forward like she’s walking on air. “Yes! Oh my God, oh my _God!_ ” Sirius clears her throat when James starts getting shrill, and she visibly recalibrates. “Right. Thank you.”

Linden smiles. “I don’t mind a little enthusiasm.” Somehow his hand has migrated to James’ waist, and Sirius wants to snap it off.  The cameras undoubtedly zoom in as they share a tender moment that Sirius suspects would be uncomfortable to watch even if she weren’t absolutely seething with jealousy.

Finally, Linden leaves to mull over their respective merits, and once James is done staring wistfully at the door he exited through, she comes to find Sirius at the bar. “Wow!” Her voice comes out much too loud, even though she’s only had, by Sirius’ estimation, half a glass of rosé. “I mean,” she says, quieter, “it’s not at all surprising, really; we’ve always had tremendous chemistry. It would have been an insult, honestly, not to get it.” She pauses to think it over, visibly fighting down her enthusiasm. “I mean, no offense!”

“None taken.” She hadn’t realized how active her face was until she had to be conscious of a bevy of cameras watching her every move.

“It’s just really nice, to start things off on the right foot. I’m so—” She presses a hand to her mouth as if that will do anything to hide the massive grin on her face. “How are you feeling? You got to talk to him, right? How did it go?”

“ _So_ good!” she chirps. “I think he was really surprised to see me, since we never got long in high school, but we had a real moment, I think, a real connection. It was—” She smiles, thinking of James so that she’ll seem genuine. “It was actually really nice. I’m glad to be here.”

“Oh.” James doesn’t smile back at her. “That’s nice.”

Sirius resists the urge to ask if she’s jealous, knows better, after all these years, than to push, so instead she sighs, aiming for wistful. “It really was. I guess I don’t actually have chance, not with you here, but I’m excited just to give it a shot.”

James is, has always been, very easy to read, so Sirius knows she isn’t pleased, but it will take a bit more to crack her.

Outline of the rest of this failed endeavor

  * Sirius gets kept around specifically for the drama of it
  * Dumb _The Bachelor-esque_ group dates interspersed with Sirius hooking up with virtually every contestant who isn’t James
  * Sirius folds, admits to being in love with James, refuses a rose, and goes home
  * James makes it to hometowns week and since her parents are dead, they end up going to see Remus, Regulus, and, insensitively, Sirius
  * James and Sirius endgame but I sure didn’t make it there!




End file.
